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Let it be known to all that Alessio Pantalone detest crafts. He hates glue, can’t stand all the nasty little scraps of fabric, and loathes finding millions of tiny paper shreds on the floor. The only thing he hates more than crafts themselves are craft stores. They’re the essence of evil, the bane of humanity's existence (wait, that title is reserved for his boyfriend), and in general, are a terrible invention that the world would be better off without.
Zandik has heard this rant before. Baizhu has heard this rant before. Random people at the mall have heard this rant before. It’s nothing new. And when Alessio decides he hates something, he never, never changes his mind.
So what, exactly, is he doing in a craft store?
It’s all Childe’s fault.
As usual.
* * *
Earlier in the week, Alessio made the mistake of mentioning to Childe that he had no idea what to get Zandik for Christmas. He figured the ginger freak would have some idea, since they live together, so he listened with a (mostly) open mind while Childe spouted off a million terrible ideas. An X-ray machine, new scalpels, a huge-ass medical text that costs like a million bucks…Alessio turned them all down.
He must’ve realized Alessio was nearing his tipping point, because Childe quickly changed tactics and moved on to gift ideas of a more perverted nature. Namely ones involving glitter and ribbons used in ways they were not intended.
“Tie yourself up all pretty like an anemic princess with ribbon. He’ll love it. He has a thing for tying people up,” Childe suggested, smirking.
“Congratulations,” Alessio told him, giving him a slow, condescending round of applause. “You’ve graduated from Pervert to Grade A Degenerate.”
“I’m telling you, if you wanna make his psycho little heart beat faster, do something that involves you, without clothes, and ribbons. Glitter is optional.”
“Glitter?” Alessio squeaked, horrified. “What for?”
“Glitter makes everything better,” Childe said wisely. “Except for glitter lube. Ugh. Real bad idea there.” He gagged and shuddered. “I’ll amend that. Mostly everything better. Keep it out of holes that it doesn’t belong in.”
“Fuck you,” Alessio told him, leaving before the conversation could take any more dark turns.
* * *
So that’s why he’s at a craft store. Because Childe put a stupid idea in his head, and it’s one of those ideas that’s bad and really good at the same time, like the idea of pranking a professor by stealing their car and making them think they’ve lost their mind when the car is actually just a few parking spots over with Sucker written on the front windshield in chalk. That kind of idea.
Looking both ways, he ducks into one of the first aisles. All of the gaudy Christmas stuff is up front, begging people to buy it. Like anyone can resist having scratchy trees and glitter shoved down their throats. Most of the stuff is wiped out, but there’s a few spools of ribbon left on a shelf that’s at eye-level.
Tucking his hands into his coat pockets, Alessio surveys his options. There’s a gold one, but it’s scratchy, and he’s pretty sure there’s wire in the edges to make it keep a nice form. The white one is too thin, and there’s not enough of it on the spool. And who the fuck is charging fifteen bucks for a tiny little bit of ribbon? Crooks.
The final option is red. It shines in the fluorescent lights, and when he reaches out to touch it, it’s soft. Not itchy at all. It’s also wide, and there’s several feet of it. Besides, the price is pretty cheap. It seems like his decision has been made for him, so he reaches out to grab it.
A little kid shoves his way between Alessio and the shelf, trying to steal the spool from him. “I need the red ribbon!” he whines, face scrunching up in an unattractive way. “Santa needs more bows!”
“Uh, no,” Alessio tells him, taking a step back. He really hates children. They’re little disease carriers, always sneezing and snotting and coughing all over the place. “I’m sure Santa knows exactly where your house is without extra crap all over the place.”
“Moooom!” the kid howls. “He said crap! Isn’t that a bad word?”
“Fuck me,” Alessio grumbles, walking around the kid. This is another reason why he hates craft stores.
“MOOOOM! HE SAID FUCK! HOW COME HE GETS TO SAY FUCK?!!”
“Because his mother never taught him any manners,” the kid’s mother says, giving Alessio a dirty look.
“I WANNA SAY FUCK!”
“You already are,” Alessio says, stepping into the checkout line. Dear god, get me the hell out of here.
He can feel invisible germs crawling all over him when he leaves the store. “I hate children,” he grumbles, tucking the ribbon into his coat. “Zandik better appreciate the hell out of this.”
* * *
Zandik is having problems of his own.
They’re not gift-related problems. He did all his shopping in July, just to get it out of the way. And his present for his one true love isn’t one he can physically hand him, either.
No, his problems start when he receives a text on his phone from his social worker. Technically, she isn’t his social worker anymore, since he aged out of the system, but she still looks after several people who mean a lot to him.
Zandik, it’s almost Christmas. I’ve gotten permission to have you and your brothers spend the day together. What time would you like me to drop them off?
He glances over at the clock. It’s before lunchtime, and Alessio is out doing sexy Alessio things. Even though they’re definitely in a relationship now, he never got around to telling Alessio that he isn’t an only child. The topic never came up, and he didn’t feel like traumatizing his darling. Learning that there are multiple Dottores has been the reason several social workers quit and moved far, far away.
Grabbing the phone, he texts back, B4 chowtime. Near the green.
Shrugging on a jacket, he shoves one of Childe’s leftover burritos in his mouth whole and hurries outside.
* * *
He hears them coming before he sees the van.
“STOP CHEWING ON MY FUCKING KNEECAP!”
“THEN GET YOUR BLOODY ASS OUT OF MY FACE!”
“GRAB OZZIE BEFORE HE FALLS OUT OF THE WINDOW, YOU MORON!”
Whistling a little tune, Zandik watches as a battered Honda minivan tears into the parking lot behind the dorms. Even though it’s freezing, all of the windows are down, and the woman in the driver’s seat looks like she’s five seconds from losing her shit. Through the windows, he can see blurry shapes fighting with each other. His youngest brother is hanging mostly out the window, being held up by one leg. His face is turning red, but he’s grinning maniacally, chewing on what looks like raw steak.
Zandik hurries over to the van as it skids to a stop and rests his arms in the open driver’s side window. “How’s it going?” he asks the social worker, grinning his most charming grin.
“Zandik Dottore, if you don’t get your brothers out of my van, I’m going to blow a gasket,” she warns, flinching as one of them hits the floor in the back. “Please! I’m begging you!”
Still smiling, Zandik stabs the button to open the doors. Ozzie, the youngest, falls onto the concrete, and he kneels to help him up. “You okay there, bro?”
“There’s two of you!” Ozzie howls in delight, getting up and spinning in unsteady circles, ignoring his skinned knees. The meat flies out of his mouth, landing in the grass a few feet away.
The rest of the Dottore brothers pile out of the van, and Zandik takes a moment to look at all of them. They look mostly fine, so it’s obvious they’re getting enough food. All of the cuts and bruises on them are results of the van ride, he knows. He feels stupid sentimentalism crawling up his throat, mixed with pride.
The last brother is barely out before the social worker is tearing out of the parking lot on two wheels.
“Heh,” the second youngest, Enzo, snickers. He tucks an outdated Gameboy into his baggy sweatshirt pocket and saddles up to Zandik. “We did all the things you told us. We made up another language and refused to speak English to her, we unbuckled ourselves while she was driving, and we opened the windows on the highway.”
Zandik holds his hand out for a high-five before grabbing his brothers and strangling them in an uncomfortable hug. Elbows are in his ribs, and he’s got his sixteen-year old brother’s hair in his mouth, but it’s all good. “I missed you little shits.”
“Yeah, right,” Primo grunts, giving him an I’m sixteen and don’t give a damn about anyone look.
“Ozzie, don’t you dare stick that in your mouth!” Dell shouts, tearing across the grass to yank the meat out of Ozzie’s mouth. “That’s fucking gross! Do you want to die of food poisoning?”
“Yeah!” Ozzie cackles, diving head-first into the trashcan to get his snack back.
Zandik claps his hands together. “Who wants to go get food?”
“ME!” four raspy, deranged voices shout.
Zandik grins. “Then follow me.”
* * *
When he gets back to campus, Alessio calls Zandik. He answers on the third ring, which is strange, since Zandik usually answers the minute he sees who it is. “Yeah, babe?”
“I’m back. Where are you?” Alessio asks.
“Dining hall,” Zandik says. He sounds unusually loud. “Sweetheart, uh, there’s something I haven’t told you…”
“What?” Alessio asks, but he’s drowned out by the sound of someone on the other end of the phone screeching, “Ozzie, stop sticking olives up your nose! Primo, stop him!”
“Why me?” a bored voice responds. “You stick your fingers up his nose. I ain’t doing it.”
“Zandik?” Alessio says in his sweetest voice. “Why does it sound like you’re surrounded by kindergartners?”
“Um…I can explain,” Zandik says in a sheepish voice. “You know how I said Childe was my family a few months ago?”
“Psycho, if you tell me you have children from a past relationship, I’m going to kill you,” Alessio promises, his voice soft and sweet. “The slowest death you can think of.”
“No kids, I promise!” Zandik’s voice fades, and then Alessio hears him bellow, “For fuck’s sake, Primo, stop flirting with the sorority girls!”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Alessio says, hanging up and practically running across campus. He swears to god, if Zandik has gotten himself into something…he’ll kill the prick before he gets a chance to see the ribbon surprise.
* * *
“Is something wrong?” Dell asks. Of all his brothers, Dell is probably the quietest and most sane. He’s got the usual fourteen-year-old disobedience thing going on, but he might be the only Dottore who doesn’t end up in jail before the age of eighteen. “You look a little pale, bro.”
“Yeah. About that.” Zandik stares down at the bloody sauce massacre on the table. “I want you to meet someone. My boyfriend. And you need to be nice, okay? Primo, that means you need to stop scowling. Ozzie, stop sticking crap up your nose. Enzo, stop giving yourself Joker makeup with the sauce. Dell…eh, you’re fine.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Primo asks, raising a bored eyebrow. “How’d you swing that?”
“Tied ‘im up, probably,” Enzo snickers. He wiggles one eyebrow in a suggestive manner.
For the first time in his life, Zandik feels a little disturbed. “Enzo, what kind of crap are you reading?”
“I’m gonna give him a big kiss,” Ozzie declares, holding out his pizza-sauce covered hands.
Primo moves away from him. “You’re so fucking gross.”
“Don’t call your brother names!” God, Zandik feels like his head is going to explode. He loves his brothers, but sometimes even he doesn’t know how they’re related.
“You do it all the time!” Enzo shouts.
“Zandik?” a familiar voice says, and he turns slowly, smiling like a little kid that’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Sweetheart!”
Alessio is standing a few feet away, staring at their table like he’s never seen anything so horrifying in his life.
* * *
Occasionally, Alessio has some pretty horrifying dreams. He had one recently about him and Zandik on their wedding night (he was wearing white lace lingerie and Zandik was biting the hell out of him), so there you are.
But none of his dreams have come close to the horror he feels right now, standing in the middle of the dining hall, frozen still. He feels like his entire world is tipping on its axis.
There are some things in life that are unique. Like Zandik, for instance. He’s a special kind of insane that no one could ever hope to replicate.
And there are some things in life that shouldn’t exist. Like an entire table of Zandik look-alikes, flinging pizza sauce in the air and smiling with sharp, pointy teeth. There’s a little one, and three bigger ones, all blue-haired and red-eyed and terrifying.
“Sweetheart!” Zandik says, holding out his hand.
“No,” Alessio whimpers, but he takes a tiny step forward anyway, until his hand is in the safety of his boyfriend’s. He presses himself against Zandik’s side and hides his face in Zandik’s sweatshirt hood. “What’s happening?”
“It’s okay, babe,” Zandik whispers, so quiet only Alessio can hear him. “They don’t bite.”
“Why?” Alessio mumbles, traumatized.
“Babe, these are my brothers, Primo, Dell, Enzo, and Ozzie.” Zandik rubs soothing circles at the base of Alessio’s spine, and Alessio melts. A little. He’s still terrified.
There’s no response, so Alessio turns, half-expecting to see that they’re all staring at him with knives raised. Instead, he’s only partly right. They’re staring at him, sure…but there’s no murder in their crimson eyes. Instead, they’re…blushing?
“Guys?” Zandik says. “You’ve been talking shit since you got dropped off. What happened?”
“Pretty,” the smallest Dottore whispers, his eyes wide.
Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh no, Alessio thinks. Oh fucking no.
* * *
Zandik guides Alessio into the seat next to him. His boyfriend is nervously clutching his hand like he’s afraid to let go, and Zandik has rarely seen him this…scared?
He glances over at his brothers, suddenly seeing them through a stranger’s eyes. Ozzie looks like he had his head shoved into a pizza, his curly blue hair matted and full of sticks. Primo’s got his hair slicked back in an attempt to look older than he is, and his black eyeliner is reminding Zandik of a raccoon with rabies. Enzo’s got a concerning grin on his face, and his eyes are unfocused. Every once and a while he lets out a deranged giggle. And Dell is chewing on his hair, the way he does when he’s nervous.
The whole seeing them through someone else’s eyes thing only works for a few seconds before he’s trying not to snicker. How can he not be proud of his brothers?
“Sit next to me,” Ozzie begs, staring at Alessio with hearts in his eyes. Every single one of his brothers, from eight to sixteen, are utterly, completely infatuated with his boyfriend. It seems that their taste in men is yet another thing they all share.
“Um, okay,” Alessio says, sliding onto the bench next to Ozzie. Zandik knows he doesn’t like children, and seeing him make an effort makes his heart warm. “So, are you all, like, full blood brothers?”
“Yeah,” Primo says, deepening his voice to sound tough.
“Idiot boy’s right. We’re blood brothers, if you can’t tell—” Zandik gestures at the hair and eyes and teeth, snickering— “we just got split up by the foster system when we were younger. One Dottore is universally known as too many, and there was no way in hell we were gonna end up together. We get to see each other a few times a year on holidays and shit like that.”
There’s a brief moment of silence, where Alessio is processing the information, before the pointy floodgates open and the interrogation is on.
“Can I touch your hair?” Ozzie.
“Do you, like, sleep in the same bed as Zandik?” Enzo.
“I like your boots.” Dell.
“I, uh, I—” Primo.
“Do you, like, kiss Zandik?” Enzo.
“Are you gonna get married?” Ozzie.
“Do you want some breadsticks, Alessio?” Dell.
(Choking noise). Primo.
“Are you the top or bottom?” Enzo.
“What the fuck, Enzo!” Zandik decides it’s time to put a stop to the questions before they get any more invasive. “You’re twelve! Where are you getting this shit!”
“Fanfiction,” Enzo says proudly.
“No, sometimes, thanks, what, it’s none of your business but yes, no, sure Dell, do you need medical help Primo, and it depends,” Alessio fires off, delicately taking a breadstick that Dell offers him, taking a small bite. Zandik catches Primo staring at Alessio’s lips and scowls at his brother. He gets it, he really does—Alessio’s walking sex appeal, after all—but he doesn’t appreciate his brother ogling his boyfriend.
“We were gonna walk around campus,” Zandik tells Alessio. “Do you want to come?” I totally understand if you don’t.”
Alessio considers it. “I’ll go with you. But,” he adds in a softer voice, grabbing Zandik by the front of his hoodie, “you’d better not get too tired before tonight.”
“Never, babe.” Zandik kisses him, only slightly relishing the four sets of jealous looks being shot at his spine like daggers. Alessio’s voice promises something fun, and he almost can’t wait.
“Stop making out in front of us,” Primo grumbles.
“Yeah,” Enzo scowls.
“You’re just jealous,” Zandik taunts. “Find your own man.”
* * *
In theory and practice, it only takes an hour to walk the entirety of Genshin College’s campus. But when the Brothers Dottore are involved, it takes a grand total of three hours.
Ozzie grabs one of Alessio’s hands and refuses to let go. Alessio catches both Primo and Enzo looking longingly at his free hand, but Zandik gets in their way, warming Alessio’s cold hand in his.
They stop by the frat house, and Diluc nearly has a heart attack when he sees the Dottore clones. Kaeya and the monsters run around with a football for a little while, and Alessio and Zandik watch from a bench a few yards away.
“So…” Zandik says, dragging the word out. “What’s planned for tonight?”
“Your Christmas present,” Alessio says, flushing when he thinks of the ribbon hidden under his coat.
“Intriguing…” Zandik leans in for a kiss, but the moment is ruined when a football hits him upside the head. A glowering Primo ends up being the culprit.
“They’ve all got it bad,” Zandik says, nuzzling Alessio’s ear.
“They have good taste,” Alessio says.
Snickering, Zandik hides his face in Alessio’s hair. “Love you, babe.”
* * *
The farewell is a lot more emotional than it usually is. And the emotion is…a raging group crush.
Ozzie refuses to let go of Alessio, hanging on him with both arms and legs, so Zandik has to detach him and toss him into the van. “Love ya, little shit,” he says, patting Ozzie on his curly head. “See you soon!”
Dell gets a hug from Alessio for being polite, and he stumbles into his seat in a daze. Zandik gives him a quick hug and returns to deal with Enzo, who’s staring up at Alessio like he’s hung the moon. “When I’m older, I’ll come back for you and steal you away,” he says confidently.
“Don’t count on it,” Alessio tells him, one perfect black eyebrow raised.
That leaves Primo. He hangs around outside the van, hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring at the ground. Alessio gets a mischievous smile on his face as he crosses over to the final brother and kisses him on the cheek. In a last-ditch, desperate effort, Primo turns his head, probably hoping to give him a real kiss. Alessio shakes his head and presses his fingers against Primo’s mouth. “Not happening.”
“Lucky bastard,” Primo spits, glaring at Zandik as he climbs into the van and shuts the door.
“I love you little shits! Behave!” Zandik waves as the social worker starts up the engine. They leave the parking lot the same way they entered: Ozzie half out the window, the other three yelling at each other inside. Only this time, the topic’s a little different…
“HE’S MINE! I ALREADY TOLD HIM I’D COME BACK AND GET HIM!”
“YOU’RE TWELVE, DIPSHIT! HE DOESN’T WANT A TWELVE-YEAR-OLD!”
“AND YOU THINK HE WANTS A NASTY-ASS MORON LIKE YOU, PRIMO? SHUT UP!”
“I HAVE RABIES!”
The silence echoes once they’re gone.
“Well, that was fun,” Alessio says. “But now that they’re gone…” He lets his voice trail off as he carefully hooks a finger into the collar of his coat, pulling it down just a little.
There’s a flash of something red against his pale skin, and just like that, Zandik’s back on board the horny train. “Babe…” he groans, reaching for him, but Alessio steps out of reach.
“Catch me if you can,” he taunts, turning and tearing back toward the frat house.
* * *
Alessio’s heart is beating out of his chest when he reaches his room, slamming the door in Zandik’s face. A minute later, it’s thrown open, and Zandik stalks into his room, a predatory glint in his bright eyes. “Sweetheart,” he sing-songs, kicking his boots off as fast as he can and yanking his sweatshirt over his head.
“Yes?” Alessio asks, innocent as can be. He yelps as Zandik tackles him backward into his bed, practically ripping his clothes off. His face is on fire, the hot flush spreading down his body. The ribbon he knotted around his body is loose, but still tight enough to press against his skin. Every inch of it is revealed slowly as Zandik tosses pieces of his clothes away, and he gasps when Zandik straddles his hips, looking down at him with a dark gaze.
“So this is my present,” he muses, and the dark notes in his voice make Alessio shake. “All of my favorite things at the same time. You, bondage…”
He leans down and presses his sharp teeth to Alessio’s ear. “I love it, babe.”
“Good,” Alessio giggles.
Zandik hooks his fingers through one of the knots and begins to unravel part of it. Alessio blinks, confused, as Zandik rewinds the silky ribbon around his wrist and then knots it to the bedpost. The deranged look on his boyfriend’s face should, by any rights, be making him extremely nervous, but he’s just turned on.
“Now, you can’t escape,” Zandik says in a terrifying, soft voice. “I’m going to make you cry and scream…and the best part? You’re trapped. ”
“Kinky freak,” Alessio gasps, but he really doesn’t have any room to talk, given the way he’s grinding his hips against Zandik’s thigh.
“Oh, you have no idea, babe,” Zandik says, smile wide and sharp, and then he descends.
* * *
“I loved my present,” Zandik whispers against Alessio’s hair. “I’m gonna keep the ribbon forever.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He can feel Alessio’s smile against his neck. The room around them is dark, blankets pulled up over them, creating a furnace fueled by their body heat. Alessio’s beautiful hair is tangled, and ribbons are twisted around their legs.
“What are you doing on Christmas Eve?” Zandik asks, rubbing his fingers up the knobs of Alessio’s spine.
“Probably hanging out with you. Why?” Alessio props his body up, looking down at him with sparkling eyes.
“I got tickets to a fancy masquerade ball for you and me,” he says, stroking Alessio’s cheek. “You can wear that fancy jacket I know you have in the back of your closet, and I can dress like a deadly sexy pimp. Cane and bird mask and all.”
“You don’t like shit like that,” Alessio points out.
“I didn’t think you liked bondage, and it turned out I was wrong. I’m giving you a chance to sell the idea of waltzing and creepy masks. Who knows? I might like it.”
“I love you, psycho,” Alessio whispers, kissing him softly. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, babe,” Zandik says, wrapping his boyfriend in his arms as the darkness settles around them.